


The Painfully Long Process of Falling in Love (As Told by Kuroo Tetsurou)

by MorganTheSlug



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 10k, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Poetry, Canon-Compliant, Complete, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I made it to 10K words!, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, No beta oof, POV Kuroo Tetsurou, POV Third Person, Second year, genderqueer kenma kozume, is that a tag?, it's fluffy for the most part but watch out for the tw, it's set in their second year btw, just don't look too closely at the timeline it doesn't exist, kuroo has autophobia/monophobia, kuroo knows how to deal with his feelings he just doesn't know what those feelings are, nonbinary kenma kozume, oh oh also kenma uses they/them pronouns, slowburn, tw: minor breakdown, wow it's really long, yes these tags are a mess I'm aware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:15:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganTheSlug/pseuds/MorganTheSlug
Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou never particularly liked books or words or reading, but when each school day brings a new poem written by a mysterious author hidden away in his desk, he's inclined to make an exception. Things tend to change, after all - in fact, he never particularly liked Yaku Morisuke, but he would be quick to change his mind on that, too.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Yaku Morisuke
Comments: 14
Kudos: 65





	The Painfully Long Process of Falling in Love (As Told by Kuroo Tetsurou)

“Falling is the strangest thing.  
It never happens all at once, but gradually.  
Sometimes, you don’t realize that you’re doing it;  
Until it’s too late.”

Tetsurou read and re-read the words with a furrowed brow and squinted eyes. He couldn’t exactly decipher what they meant, but he didn’t think he was supposed to know, anyway. 

His Japanese classroom was the only class he had that was filled with lift-lidded desks, so of course he was curious to see what was inside. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a nearly empty desk with a single sheet of paper, written on it vague and only mildly confusing words. 

“Kuroo, could you get your head out of your desk and bring your eyes back up front, please?”

Tetsurou cast one last glance at the mysterious writing and closed the lid with a sigh. Oh, well, he thought, it wasn’t his business anyway. Somebody from another class had left some vent poetry in the desk, that was all. He apologized with an innocent smile to his teacher and tried not to think anything of it afterwards.

"Tried" being the key word. Of course, words and writing had never been his forte, he much preferred science and math, so nothing (outside of initial confusion) should have truly interested him about abstract sentences on a page. But there was something about how surprised he was to find the poem that the words just kept coming back to him. 

"Falling is the strangest thing." He eventually decided that it must have been about love. Or, falling in love, at least. He wondered what was going on in the life of the author to prompt them to write about this kind of subject, but he left it be. He didn’t want to invade too much, so he dropped it. It was an occurrence that he was reading far too much into, and it wouldn’t even matter by the time he went to bed that night. 

On his way out of class, he scanned the heads of the thin crowd, shooting smiles at passerby and narrowly dodging oncoming runners. He almost didn’t see him - although he valued his life enough not to say this - but once he found the short, light hair standing further down than the rest, he made an immediate beeline. 

“Oi, Yakkun!”

Tetsurou waved an arm as obnoxiously as he could, but he didn’t need to as Yaku, upon hearing the nickname, had stopped in his tracks and turned to face him. He seemed to wait until Tetsurou was close enough to roll his eyes, making sure that the other didn’t miss it. Still, he let out a quiet “Hey” as a greeting, so Tetsurou knew that he wasn’t completely annoyed by his presence. 

In truth, it was impossible for the two to be genuinely annoyed with each other - not anymore, at least. Since starting off their association on worse than bitter terms and taking weeks to get to the point where they could tolerate each other, the state of their relationship couldn’t have gotten much worse than that. Now, nearly two years later, Tetsurou was happy to say that toleration had turned into respect, and maybe a slight admiration. Still, small jabs and passing insults never truly went away, though they both knew that the other didn’t mean it. It was a back-and-forth type relationship, and Tetsurou, at least, was comfortable. He couldn’t give a definitive answer for Yaku, but he was confident (overly-confident, as he had frequently been told) that the feeling was mutual. 

It never happens all at once, but gradually. 

Without another word between them, Yaku continued on the route he had been on, now with Tetsurou at his side. This was their routine, they would meet in the hallway before lunch and and get to the cafeteria together, where they would wait for the rest of their friends who they were lucky enough to have the period with. Tetsurou liked this routine, and, even though Yaku never waited for him (most of the time Tetsurou just had to be fast enough to catch him), he never broke it, so it wouldn’t be outrageous to assume that he liked it, too.

He lazily stuffed his hands in his jacket’s pockets and asked absent-mindedly, “Did you do the Japanese homework yet?”

Yaku seemed almost offended at the question. “Didn’t you just get out of that class?”

“I meant tonight’s homework.”

“If I might ask, how and why would I have that done already?”

Tetsurou shrugged as he fought down a grin. “I just really don’t want to do it.”

Yaku scoffed. “I’m not giving you the answers either way, lazy ass. Do it yourself.”

“So cold-hearted,” Tetsurou returned, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. He pretended he didn’t notice the quiet smirk that had found its way onto Yaku’s face. 

Sometimes, you don’t realize that you’re doing it...

They didn't mention it for the rest of their commute or throughout lunch, instead talking with most of the rest of their team about who knows what. However, when they were forced to head their separate ways at the end of the period, Tetsurou called out to the retreating figure, "Send me the answers later!" 

"Not a chance!" came the response, fresh with a bubbly smile that Yaku shot over his shoulder.

"Oh, you'll come around."

Yaku did not, in fact, come around, it was never mentioned in any of their later classes or at all during that afternoon's volleyball practice, and no texts were sent between the two of them that night. Yet, strangely enough, Kenma offered to do the homework with him over the phone, something he almost never did, and Tetsurou suspected outside interference. Of course, Yaku would deny this if he ever brought it up, so he considered it a silent victory. 

Until it’s too late.

As planned, Tetsurou had forgotten about the writing he found in his desk, so his surprise was doubled when he glanced inside the next day and found another sheet of paper.

The handwriting was the same, and the tone was roughly similar, so it wasn’t unreasonable to decide that this new writing was the work of the same person as the previous day’s. He just thought it strange that the first paper was gone, replaced with this new one. Did the writer not care if somebody else happened to read their work? Why weren’t they bringing the papers with them after they were written, only to have them disappear the next day? Tetsurou felt his eyebrows draw together as more questions filled his head and he read again what he found in his desk. 

“I like to think it’s my little secret.  
The way your skin glows under the setting sun;  
That glint that catches your bright, thoughtful eyes,  
That earnest smile you wear when you think you’re alone.  
It’s a shame that I’ll never be all of this to you;  
How cruel it is that you don’t see in me what I do in you.”

He found himself shaking his head slightly, not sure what to make of it. Again, he had to wonder what kind of a situation would prompt somebody to write something this specifically vague. Eventually, he shelved the thoughts and closed his desk before his teacher called him out again. 

Admittedly, Tetsurou’s thoughts continued to drift back to his desk even after he left the class, and a few times he found himself trying to remember what the lines were, but it was all accidental. He wasn’t really invested in these random writings, even if he did find the situation interesting. Still, the lines played in his head, seemingly on repeat, nudging him like a particularly annoying cat. The only time the thoughts really went on standby was when he was in class with, ironically, Yaku, an annoying cat in his own right. 

“Wait, you’re saying that it’s not brown?”

“Wh - sorry, how did you get brown?”

Yaku jabbed a finger up at the top of his head, wearing a confused smile. Tetsurou had to laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Their conversations tended to go in this direction, the smallest comment or passing joke morphing into a dramatic discussion, leaving them both confused as to how they got there. It seemed that the color of Yaku’s hair was today's debate; Tetsurou had made the apparently heinous mistake of believing that it was a light shade of brown, but Yaku refused to say what color he thought it was. 

“I dunno, it’s like a golden brown, no?”

Yaku snorted, jerking his head forward as he fought down a laugh. “Ridiculous,” he said.

“I’m not wrong,” Tetsurou insisted, to which Yaku continued to snicker. “Fine, do you think it’s blonde or something?”

Yaku squinted offendedly at him, but failed to mask his growing smile. 

“Like, you know, strawberry blonde or whatever they call it!”

“Oh my god,” Yaku muttered, shielding his eyes with a palm as his quiet laughs went on. Tetsurou shook his head in disbelief, the corners of his own mouth twisting upward. 

“Fine,” he said, admitting defeat (something he hated doing, but Yaku had the irritating ability to get him to raise the white flag). “What color is my hair?”

Quickly recovering from his fit of giggling, Yaku looked up and studied the messy locks of Tetsurou’s hair. Slowly, the hand rubbing his chin in thought reformed itself into a finger gun that he pointed at his face as he said with a completely blank face, “Dark brown.”

Tetsurou felt his mouth hanging open. “You - dark brown?”

“Obviously,” Yaku said, turning away and picking his pencil back up. 

"Wh…this! -" Tetsurou blew at the hair over his eye for emphasis. "- is black!"

"Hair can't just be black," Yaku shot back, rolling his eyes. "It's just really dark brown. It looks black, but it can't be - you can't have hair that's made of void."

Tetsurou squinted and let his mouth hang open at Yaku, shaking his head in disbelief, all the while trying to remember why he had decided to sit next to him. "That's...that's the whole point of colors! What you see is what the color is, it's not 'actually' some different color!"

"Oh, you are so not ready to hear about magenta-"

"Boys in the back, if you don't keep your voices down I'll have to separate you two!"

The two in question glanced at each other before both making sorry attempts at hiding their grins. Yaku answered, "We're sorry" at the same time Tetsurou announced, "We finished." They glanced at each other again, but it wasn't long before Yaku broke it with yet another fit of silent giggles. Tetsurou couldn't help but laugh along, the sound of his friend's laughter sparking some kind of fluttery sensation in his chest, like it always seemed to do. He peeked out through eyes squinted in a smile and caught a glimpse of Yaku's face, also contorted with a grin. The thing about Yaku is that he had never been afraid to smile, and it was obvious in the way he did it fully and openly, hands not bothering to cover it. Tetsurou started to feel the muscles in his face cramping, but couldn't exactly fight it off.

Before getting the chance to think about it, he blurted out, "You're cute."

Yaku's giggles died down almost immediately, replaced with a harsh wrinkle in his nose. He turned away, doing what Tetsurou could only assume was rolling his eyes, and said, "Don't call me that."

"Sure thing," Tetsurou returned, placing just enough emphasis to ensure that it was known that he wasn't being sincere. For once, Yaku didn't have a retort, he just picked his pencil back up and threw it at him. He missed, but it's the thought that counts. Tetsurou smiled again and shook his head, turning away from the boy sitting next to him. It was likely his imagination, anyway, but he almost thought he noticed a light dusting of pink on the little of the face that wasn't turned away from him. 

Ow, ow, ow, that can't be good…

Okay, maybe Tetsurou's jog that previous night had gone a little sideways and maybe the pain in his ankle after he twisted it hadn't fully gone away, but he wasn't about to show it. It was his problem, nobody else needed to waste their time worrying about it. Besides, it would be better by the time he woke up the next morning, anyway. Not for a second did he wonder if he should be more concerned about the slight pain shooting into his ankle when he took the wrong step, and less about what the others’ reactions would be to it. 

As he had grown to expect, a near blank sheet of paper sat waiting for him inside his Japanese classroom’s desk. It had been a little over a week since they started showing up, only on one or two days was the desk empty. Before his teacher got the chance to formally start class, he lifted the lid and read:

“I’ll take out a little bit of myself and give it to you;  
And I’ll tell without telling you to cradle it, to nurture it.  
I’ll beg you to take care of me, to have some kind of mercy.  
But will you ever care;  
As much as I do?”

Really, it shouldn't matter to Tetsurou, but after going through over a week of small poems and neat handwriting, he was just a little intrigued. A few times he wondered who sat in this desk in the classes before him, and other times he wondered whether or not the words were inspired from their real life. This time, however, the curiosity was replaced with a more prominent confusion. "I’ll take out a little bit of myself and give it to you." What could that possibly mean? He was never the best at analyzing any kind of text, so of course that would come to bite him in the ass in the strangest of ways. He turned the single sentence over in his mind, each time failing to come up with any kind of explanation. 

“Why are you walking like that?” 

Tetsurou snapped out of the confusion that had followed him out of the classroom and still lingered during his and Yaku’s commute to lunch. He tried on a confused look, but all too quickly he remembered the pain in his leg. After becoming too preoccupied with unwarranted curiosity over the short poem and finding a specific way to move his feet so as to not bother his ankle, he had almost forgotten.

He met Yaku’s eyes, narrowed in suspicion, and, having rehearsed his excuse and already using it on Kai that morning, answered easily, "I have to keep my feet inside the tiles or else I die."

Yaku looked down at the floor and up at his face again, expression growing more and more skeptical. "You're doing a shit job," he remarked. 

Tetsurou rolled his eyes, but couldn’t think of anything to answer with that wouldn’t hurt his case, so he left it at that.

Yaku's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual, and he could've sworn he was wearing the same concerned look that he gave his other teammates whenever they got themselves injured. It only lasted for a moment, however, and he eventually returned the eye roll and faced forward again. Still, Tetsurou couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Yaku saw right through him. It was one of his specialities, after all, on his long list of obscure talents. He might be a demon senpai in some ways, but he still worried too much for his own good. Of course, not for Tetsurou as much as he did for the first and second years; he was going to be captain one day, after all, and it was his job to ensure that nobody had to waste their time worrying about him. Especially not Yaku. 

The feeling of unease stayed with him all throughout lunch, even as he laughed with his teammates. It wasn’t helped by Yaku’s frequent glances in his direction, even a few glares from over his water bottle. Each time he was caught doing it, Tetsurou threw up an innocent smile, none of which were returned. 

When the bell sounded off, indicating that classes for them had begun again and they had to be on their way, Tetsurou called to the rest, "I'll see you lot at practice!”

"Don't come to practice if you hurt your leg," Yaku returned almost immediately as he started to turn away.

Tetsurou froze for only a moment, feeling several of the others’ gazes on him. "I'm fine!" he eventually called after him, but he wasn't sure if he was heard. “I’m fine,” he repeated to the two standing next to him. Kai shook his head and kept walking, and Kenma looked up from their phone just to roll their eyes. He ignored them both. 

When he did, despite Yaku's warning, show up to practice, he was met with still more raised eyebrows and disapproving stares. Evidently, Yaku had decided that trying to convince him to leave wasn’t worth his time, and he made no arguments. Truthfully, he was grateful for this, as it ensured that as much attention was taken off of him as possible, but he slowly started to wonder how much of a good idea it was.

He quickly realized that the way he had been gingerly shuffling his feet all throughout the school day was not going to work on the volleyball court, and he didn’t have much time to think of anything better. His final decision was to deal with it, ignore the sudden shots of pain in his ankle and try not to move around as much as he normally would. Was it reckless? Of course. But for volleyball, it was worth it. Of course, it was just practice, but if he ever wanted to be captain one day, what would it look like if he couldn’t turn up to practice over something this small? 

Now, “small” wasn’t technically an understatement, but Tetsurou failed to realize that without tending to them, issues only grew larger. Like he usually did, he became the smallest bit too engrossed in practice and, forgetting why he hadn’t been moving, ran and jumped after the ball more enthusiastically than he intended to. The realization set in far too late, after he had already hit the ground at an awkward angle and his knees gave in, sending him crashing into the floor. 

“Ow,” he muttered, making an attempt at standing up.

“Kuroo?” came Kenma’s voice, suddenly right beside him when they had just been on the other side of the court. Tetsurou grinned and waved them off, hoping that it didn’t appear too stiff. He could feel eyes on the back of his head and tried not to grimace. Ignoring the doubled pain in his ankle, he moved to get up, trying to restore his aura of nonchalance, but before even getting the chance to balance his weight on both feet, the injured leg shook and gave up, sending him back to the floor.

Before he could even panic, before even registering the swiftly approaching ground below him, a sudden pair of arms came from behind him and wrapped themselves around his torso. He blinked once, twice, almost turning around to face his rescuer, half-expected to find Kenma holding him up. However, Kenma was still standing next to him.

Tetsurou realized too late, and let out a sigh. He heard Yaku before he saw him. 

“God, you really know how to scare me, don’t you?” He sounded utterly exasperated. Tetsurou gulped, unable to give an answer. He felt his body being maneuvered under Yaku’s surprisingly strong grip, and soon his arm was around his shoulders. As if his priorities weren’t already as skewed as they were, he registered that Yaku smelled like cinnamon. 

Distantly, he heard his coach’s voice: “Are you alright, Kuroo?”

“‘M fine,” he answered, though made no move to push himself away from Yaku.

“I have supplies in my locker, sir,” Yaku said. Tetsurou could hear his voice closer than ever before, could feel the reverberations against his throat. He didn’t have time to wonder why this seemed to send shivers down his spine. 

“Of course you do,” he heard himself mutter, but was met with nothing in return as he shuffled with Yaku in the direction of the locker room. 

Once they had entered the room and he was gingerly lowered onto one of the benches, he asked, “We can’t go to the nurse?” Not that he was complaining, he did appreciate not having to force himself to walk any further than was necessary.

“The nurse isn’t open anymore, idiot,” Yaku muttered, turning away swiftly as soon as he had assured that Tetsurou was safely on the bench. With unmatched speed, he found his locker and opened it to reveal a small collection of common medical supplies. All the while, he mumbled, seemingly to himself, “I knew something was up, and I was right, wasn’t I? I told you not to turn up for practice, and what did you do? I swear, it’s like you guys do this to me on purpose - I can’t believe Yamamoto still wonders why I bother keeping all this stuff in here.”

“...Sorry?” Tetsurou tried, wincing a bit as Yaku slammed his locker shut. He knelt down in front of the bench and asked, his voice much softer, which leg was bothering him.

Having been through this procedure multiple times before and knowing what to do, Tetsurou readjusted himself to spread out the injured leg along the bench. Wordlessly, Yaku slipped a folded towel underneath it, his face pinched. Tetsurou tilted his head as he studied it - he'd seen that look before, of course, Yaku gave in to that concerned expression whenever he worried about one of his teammates, but, somehow, Tetsurou had never seen it used on himself. 

"You never look at me like that," he mumbled, obviously not thinking clearly.

Instead of biting back, Yaku pressed his lips together and let his gaze fall to the floor between them. “Sure I do,” he said, avoiding the other’s eyes. “You just never see it.”

Tetsurou inwardly cursed the blush that creeped up on the back of his neck. “Oh,” he said simply, voice hoarse.

It was decidedly more awkward after Yaku returned from going out to retrieve ice, the two sitting unnaturally close through a tense silence as Yaku gingerly pressed the cold, balled up cloth against the other’s elevated ankle. Eventually, he must have decided that he couldn't take it anymore and asked with a sigh, "What happened?"

Tetsurou cleared his throat quickly, thankful for a reason to get away from the quiet. "Nothing bad. I just twisted it on my run yesterday." 

Yaku bit his lip, eyes still downcast. Tetsurou decided that it must have been his imagination when his heartbeat seemed to pick up speed at the sight. "What if you sprained it?"

"It's not that serious."

Yaku huffed, any traces of tenderness in his expression wiped out. "Why do you always say that?" he asked, visibly annoyed. "Why do you always insist that everything is fine?"

Tetsurou grimaced. "Because it is." 

"It's NOT!"

They both jumped at the raised volume of Yaku's voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, still holding the ice against Tetsurou's ankle with the other. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "You just - why do you hide things? You keep everything to yourself, and then you let things like this happen. Would it hurt you that much to say something?"

Tetsurou exhaled sharply, plastering on a grin. "The stuff that happens to me shouldn't matter to you guys. I'm a big boy, remember?"

Yaku failed to hold back a chuckle. "You're ridiculous," he said, that small smile nothing short of intoxicating. "Just...promise that you won't hide things? Stop scaring me - scaring us so bad?"

"What's this?" Tetsurou said, suddenly smirking and immediately prompting an eye roll from Yaku. "Are you saying that you care about me?"

"So what if I do?" Yaku snapped, his brows pointed in the way they always did when he was annoyed. It was stuffy in the locker room, and they had just gotten out of practice. That's why Yaku was pink in the face, surely.

Tetsurou found himself laughing, a small, short laugh that was a far cry from the shrieks and howls that he usually let out. "Thanks," he said, though he hadn't fully processed it. Yaku had said it himself, he...cared. He had suspected it, of course, they've had plenty of time to build a trusting and caring relationship over the past few years, but to hear it said out loud was...comforting. That thought popped into his head once again, and he found that he had to voice it: "You're still cute."

With that, Yaku scoffed and pulled back the ice, moving like he was going to stand up. "Wait, wait!" Tetsurou said through a laugh, and for what must have been the first time, he caught himself reaching out toward him. He hoped that Yaku hadn't noticed, but judging by the snort of laughter that he let out, he probably had. 

It wasn't without resistance, but soon Yaku began to apply bandages. "We can never be too sure," he insisted through Tetsurou's protests. Short-lived protests, it should be noted, as he quickly became comfortable with Yaku's motions, warm hands working around his ankle in a careful and oh, so gentle manner. Too comfortable, almost. The moment was strangely intimate, strangely tender. Every time one of Yaku's knuckles so much as grazed his leg, an inexplicable chill travelled through what must have been his whole body. For a second it was almost like their breathing was in sync, every movement perfectly coordinated with the other's. Maybe, maybe Tetsurou found himself lost in studying the shades of brown and hazel that painted Yaku's eyes more than once, each time forcing himself to turn away and hope that he wasn't caught. He had said it as a joke, but he had to finally truly admit it; Yaku Morisuke was, unfortunately, really cute. 

He couldn't help but wonder why he felt so saddened when the moment was over.

"There," Yaku said as he placed the bandages back down on the ground. "It's messy and unprofessional, but it'll work for now."

"Thanks," Tetsurou said again, finally allowing his gaze to meet those wide, hazel eyes. 

"Remember to ice it every few hours, and take it off before you go to bed. Try to keep it elevated, and don't put pressure on it. If you didn't sprain it, you'll probably be fine in a few days."

"I know, doc," Tetsurou answered, maneuvering himself again so that he was properly sitting on the bench. When he met Yaku's disapproving gaze again, he threw his hands up in mock defense. "Okay, okay, I will." 

The annoyance in Yaku's expression melted with a sigh, and soon he let himself lean forward, still kneeling on the ground and still a good few inches shorter than Tetsurou. His eyelids lowered as he asked in a tone that was jarringly soft, "Do you promise?"

Suddenly, Tetsurou was left unable to immediately think of a response, something that Yaku alone seemed to be able to render him. The moment had only lasted for a few seconds, but the sudden smoothness of it just about knocked him off his feet. Yaku's face felt so close to his own, and his voice alone was enough to make his heart skip a beat, and wow how had it taken him this long to realize how cute he was?

Still, even if he looked and sounded incredibly convincing, Tetsurou couldn't shake the feeling that his question was asking more than one thing. After taking a breath and remembering how to use his voice, he answered, "I don't make promises."

Something happened behind Yaku's eyes - what exactly it was, he didn't know, maybe a fuse broke, a light went out, a spark popped, just something - and the moment ended. He leaned back to where he had been, a small, somewhat sad smile growing on his lips. "Right," he said, and he stood up.

Tetsurou blinked, not quite sure what he had done wrong. He opened his mouth to ask, but by the time Yaku made it back to his locker with the rest of his supplies, the door to the room opened and the space was filled with the chattering of the rest of the team.

"Everything alright in here?" Kai's voice said above the rest, making his way to where Yaku stood, his back facing Tetsurou. He glanced at the bandages wrapped around the latter's foot, but didn't make any other comments.

"Yeah," Tetsurou started to say, but Yaku cut across him.

"He's fine, just a dumbass - but we knew that already."

Kenma, walking up from behind Kai, snorted quietly. Tetsurou made to swat at them, but without any real conviction. 

The team seemed to have been finished with practice, much to Tetsurou's dismay (“But you wouldn’t be able to play, anyway, right?” “I could have at least watched you guys!”). Once they finished changing, Tetsurou a little slower than the rest, they met outside of the gymnasium, bidding their farewells. Tetsurou, leaning against the wall, was about to call for Kenma when he was approached by none other than Yaku, performing a questionable imitation of his normal, somewhat relaxed self.

"Can I," he said quickly, but stopped himself to take a few slow breaths. He closed his eyes and clutched a hand around the strap of his backpack as Tetsurou raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

"Would it be okay if I walked you home?"

The darkness around them must have been a blessing, as it concealed the redness that had surely sprang to Tetsurou's cheeks. 

"Oh," he said lamely. Thinking back to their last few moments in the locker room, the palpable awkwardness and their usually passive aggression somehow amplified, he wasn't sure if he knew how to launch himself back into that situation. "That's okay, I was about to go with Kenma."

Yaku's expression remained blank, but he could have sworn he saw the hand around his backpack strap tighten. "Right" he said, not for the first time, and turned around. "Good night, then."

Tetsurou opened his mouth to call after him, to say something, anything, but nothing came to mind. Eventually, he settled on a low "You too," but he doubted his voice carried as far as Yaku had walked. He sighed in defeat and lifted himself off the wall, careful to avoid putting too much pressure in his bad foot, and called for Kenma. 

When he got home and eventually coaxed himself to sleep, he found that his dreams were plagued by stunningly familiar hazel eyes. As normal, he thought nothing of it. 

“I’d call you the sun, with all your warmth and magnificence;  
But you’re so distant, I feel as though I’ll never see you in your entirety.  
Maybe I crave your light and your touch;  
Maybe I’ll have to settle for the stars.”

It took some time for Tetsurou to figure out why, but the energy of that day’s poem somehow felt much more personal. All of the previous ones had been abstract but understandable, with broad concepts that could be easily interpreted any way. This one, however, was strangely specific, written as something that couldn’t be as easily explained. Whatever inspiration the author took for this one, it was something personal, something specific and difficult for any outsiders to understand. Of course, maybe that was their goal, to make sense of their world and situation in a way that nobody else would be able to. Though he didn’t want to admit it, this author was starting to feel like something of a friend, in a strange way. Not only was he expecting new papers in his desk every morning, he was looking forward to them. It remained true that he never had much fascination with literature, but the way that this author wrote was something special, a notable exception. He wasn’t too curious as to what the identity of the author was, but he felt as though he knew them, at least in an abstract and impersonal way. 

Jeez, he was becoming real sappy, wasn’t he?

When he met with Yaku in the hall after class, it was obvious that he wasn’t in his normal mood, either. As usual, when he heard Tetsurou’s “Yakkun, wait up!” from across the hall, he waited for him to catch up before resuming his walk, and, as usual, he greeted him with a quiet “Hey.” But, still, something seemed...off. Tetsurou thought he had noticed something when they had met up earlier that morning, but it was small enough to shrug off. Now, however, it was hard to ignore - his glances toward the floor rather than constantly staring straight ahead; how he worked his mouth nervously, almost like he was biting his tongue; and, of course, the painfully noticeable decrease in his walking speed. Vaguely, he wondered if he had always noticed such minuscule behaviors, but he couldn’t bring himself to think about it too much. What he wanted to know was what had not so obviously upset Yaku. Was it what happened yesterday? Was he still hung up over that? He wanted to scoff at the thought, but he felt a strange pang from the idea that he could be the one to make his friend feel like this.

If he had been asked, Morisuke wasn’t sure if he’d have an answer, either. It felt that, by all means, it shouldn’t have made sense, his thoughts shouldn’t keep drifting back to the locker room, back to chickened out confessions and half-assed attempts at what could barely be called flirting. He hated this feeling, hated that he cared so goddamn much, but he still felt it. If Morisuke could kick himself in the face, he would have long before now, and several times after. All too often he caught himself wondering whether or not it was worth his time and energy to care this much about somebody who likely didn’t reciprocate, anyway. “I don’t make promises” replayed in his head for the thousandth time. Of course, of course Kuroo would say something like that. Of course he had to go on and fall for the one person who couldn’t give a damn how much of himself he put out.

Distantly, a quieter, more hopeful voice in Morisuke’s head insisted that it wasn’t like that at all, that obviously Kuroo cared, even if it wasn’t as much. Why else would he scope him out before lunch every day? Why else would he still bother spending this much time with him, why else would he still put up with him after all this time? He suppressed the urge to groan out loud - this was all so exhausting. He was so ridiculous, so hopelessly lost in this one-sided-but-is-it-really limbo, playing tug of war with his own heart and brain. As he walked with Kuroo on their familiar path through the hallway, he despised how hard it was to ignore the desire to look at him, to talk to him, to touch him, really feel him. He was sick of wondering what was going on in that beautiful head, he was so, so tired of thinking of new ways to show without showing that despite everything, he cared. He cared so, so much, it was exhausting. For the longest time, it was easy to ignore, he taught himself how to pretend that Kuroo was just another person that had barged into his life, but, obviously it couldn’t be that simple forever. Kuroo hadn’t just broken into his life uninvited, he had completely changed it. 

He still didn't know exactly what he had fallen for. Was it how unfairly attractive he was with his hair resting carelessly over his face? Was it the unwavering determination that he carried with him into every situation, a confidence that was almost contagious? His fluttery giggles, maybe, that rarely sounded in place of his usual barks of laughter. It could have been the pure concentration flooding his eyes whenever he faced a new problem, or perhaps it was commitment to improvement and success that he never seemed to forget. With a blush that he hoped wasn't visible, Morisuke wondered if it was his tender touches, however infrequent, his rare softness and delicacy that he likely didn't even realize he was performing. Did he know it whenever he used that tenderness? Was he aware of this incredible effect he had on him, or was it all accidental? Was this how he acted with everybody? Morisuke thought, briefly, that maybe he wasn't special, maybe these small treasures weren't really his and his alone. It was selfish to wish that they were, yes, but this strange curiosity and affection he had for this boy was something that he never wanted to share. Funny, he thought, that it will never be his in the first place.

Was he truly mad at him? Maybe, he thought, maybe he was finally sick of his friend failing to realize how much he meant to him, how meaningful his words were. Yes, he was certainly pissed at his “I don’t make promises,” that was likely the source of this tiring frustration. But, deep down, he was probably mad at himself. Not for falling so hard, no, he had accepted that a long time ago, but for putting so much effort in when he didn’t even know if it would ever be worth it. He still struggled not to visibly cringe when he remembered how he had asked to walk him home last night, how he leaned in and asked if he could promise. He was pining, he was filled with so much longing that sometimes it hurt, and he was getting worse at hiding it. Every time he met those dark eyes, every time he was successful in prompting that soft, genuine laugh, he fell all over again. And every time fell, he got back up again with more bruises. 

He chanced a glance at Kuroo. I hate you, he thought. But, no, it wasn’t exactly hate. Close enough, but not quite. He sighed as quietly as he could. Who am I kidding, he thought. I love you. And that was just as painful to admit. 

No matter how loudly Yaku thought, Tetsurou couldn’t seem to figure it out. As they sat for lunch, he studied him from across the table, trying to figure out what words would be the best for this situation. Eventually, after deciding that he didn’t care that several of their friends surrounded them on all sides, he took in a sharp breath and started with, “Yaku?”

He didn’t get a chance to so much as glance in his direction before, immediately after Tetsurou had gotten the name out, Yamamoto launched head-first into a coughing fit, slamming on the table as dramatically as he could muster. “Holy shit,” Yaku exclaimed, leaning around an annoyed looking Kenma with his trademark irritated-out-of-concern look, but Tetsurou caught a glimpse of that genuine, caring fear in his eye.

Yamamoto was fine, he had just inhaled for a laugh at the wrong moment, but it didn’t stop Yaku’s parental-like scolding, telling him to be more careful and not scare him so much. The words were familiar, but the tone was so obviously different from the way that he had said them to Tetsurou that previous night. He shook his head lightly, reminding himself not to think about that. The interruption had dissolved his confidence, and he went on like he had never said anything. After the remaining commotion died down, Yaku did look back at him like he was expecting him to continue - and wow did the fact that he still remembered that make him feel some type of way - but after resolving that now wasn’t the right time, he simply smiled. A small wave of relief breezed by when Yaku smiled back, albeit it smaller and less confident than usual.

And it was weird. Tetsurou felt weird, this whole thing was weird. He never lost confidence like that, he normally wouldn’t have cared that it wasn’t the right moment to speak his mind. He might’ve had a bad habit of glossing over his own issues, but he refused to leave his friends’ unchecked. So why, why, he asked himself, did Yaku have this effect on him? What made Yaku so different that Tetsurou didn’t feel normal around him? Why did he think more about what he wanted to say, why did he grow flustered at the smallest things? What made him notice his smallest mannerisms, what was this strange, new softness that enveloped him when in Yaku’s presence? 

Kenma didn’t seem nearly as perturbed by these thoughts when he voiced them that afternoon.

Tetsurou couldn’t attend practice due to a mix of coach’s orders, not wanting to injure himself so much that it would be even longer before he got to play again, and fear that Yaku would slap him on sight (though, maybe he wanted that? No, wait, ew - he told himself to shut up). Kenma insisted that they didn’t go, either, and although Tetsurou wasn’t sure how much he approved of an extra missed practice, he let it slide. He had already convinced them to stay in the volleyball club in the first place, anyway, surely one missed practice would be fine (of course, he didn’t fully let them off the hook before he, in the most annoying way he could manage, said, “Aren’t I gonna be such a good captain one day? Say it, say I would be a good captain.” To which Kenma rolled their eyes and deadpanned, “You’ll be a great captain.”).

The two now found themselves in the living room of Kenma’s house, a place that was essentially Tetsurou’s second home. For nearly ten minutes, he had been spouting off about Yaku and all the confusing feelings that he brought with him, partly frustrated but mostly curious about what it meant. All the while, Kenma barely looked up from their phone, but hardly noticeable shifts in their expression made it clear that they were listening.

“Not to mention that he - that I think - shit, he’s cute! I’ve called him cute, I’ve done it more than once! And not just in the normal way, like, you’re cute, Kenma, but that’s just a fact. Yaku is more like...I dunno, I’m attracted to him or something. But I’m not, because I don’t like him like that, but I still-”

Tetsurou cut himself off when he found that his friend was laughing. They ran a hand through their hair - hair that Tetsurou still hadn’t gotten used to the newly dyed bright blonde color of - as they let out quiet chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“You’re such an idiot,” Kenma answered, shaking their head. When Tetsurou didn’t look any less questioning, they continued, “So, you think he’s cute, and you’re attracted to him, but you’re not because you don’t like him like that?”

“Exactly.”

Kenma snorted.

“Does it make sense?” Tetsurou asked, ignoring it.

“No!” Kenma said, their phone powering off from inactivity. “What were you saying earlier? About how he makes you feel ‘soft’ or whatever? You said that he makes you stop acting like yourself, he makes you feel things that almost nobody else can. You’ve started noticing tiny things about him, which is kind of weird but whatever, and you’re terrified of the thought that you could’ve hurt him by accident.”

“Hey, that last one doesn’t count, that’s how I feel about everybody.”

“How touching,” Kenma said, expression and tone not shifting an inch. “But you’re avoiding my question.”

“Which is?”

“Are you sure you don’t like him?”

Tetsurou rolled his eyes. “Obviously I like him. I like all my friends, and I like hanging out with him.”

Kenma sighed exaggeratedly and buried their face in their hands. “No - Jesus - do you think you have a crush on him?”

Tetsurou stiffened and froze at the question. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, thinking it over. He...had never thought of that. It sounded ridiculous in hindsight, but not once had he thought that these weird, new feelings could be any less than platonic. The word replayed in his head. Crush. Was that the word? Was that the feeling that he had been trying for weeks now to find the name of? No, surely not. He didn’t want to date Yaku, he didn’t want anything more than what they had. Those stunning brown eyes from his dreams didn’t mean anything like that, it couldn’t be. 

Almost on command, Yaku’s face lit up in his mind’s eye, twisted with a wide smile, a light blush creeping up on his cheeks. Tetsurou felt his own face heat up, but didn’t bother trying to hide it. It didn’t mean anything, it couldn’t.

Right?

Kenma snapped their fingers. “You still there?”

“No,” Tetsurou blurted out. Kenma raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I don’t have a crush on him. That’d be ridiculous.”

Kenma looked almost sick. “You are ridiculous,” they muttered. “Is the thought that this kid that you used to hate might not be so bad anymore that hard to believe?”

“No,” Tetsurou said again, defensive. “I don’t think it would be that bad to...to be with him, I don’t think he would make a bad...y’know. He’s really funny, and sweet, and he’s super passionate about the stuff that he does, but I...don’t. I don’t like him like that.”

“You’re impossible,” Kenma said. “Look, I get it, it’s a sudden question, and you’re not ready to answer it. Just...take some time to think about it before you’re so quick to reject it.”

Tetsurou’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he said, but he knew that once he went back home, he wasn’t going to think about this at all if he could help it. 

A few moments of silence spread between the two before Kenma asked, “Do you want to talk about it any more?”

When Tetsurou shook his head, they let out a sigh before finally changing the subject. They shared that they’d be out of town for the weekend, off to their grandparents’ house. They asked if Tetsurou would be alright, which he thought was an irrational question to ask. When they were younger, Tetsurou had a habit of going off to Kenma’s house whenever he was left alone, and he still did it on the few occasions that he had to, but it wouldn’t be necessary that weekend, surely. It wasn’t Kenma’s job to constantly be there for him, anyway, something he was quick to remind him of.

“Just checking,” Kenma said when Tetsurou explained, throwing up their hands. 

Tetsurou didn’t leave until the sun was nearly fully set, and when he found himself in the solitude of his bedroom, he finally gave up and stopped trying to shake off the thoughts of how he actually felt about the friend that wouldn’t stop flashing in his mind. He asked himself, how bad would it be if he did have a crush on Yaku? What would change between the two of them if he stopped thinking of him as just a friend?

A lot, he thought, rolling over in bed and pressing a second pillow over his head. As if to spite himself, he once again recalled the locker room, when Yaku had leaned in and asked, his voice unbearably gentle, “Do you promise?” He could still remember all the small details in his face when he had seen it at such proximity, every light freckle and every lash jutting out from those lowered eyelids. He could almost still smell that cinnamon scent that had wafted off him, if only barely. For a second, he imagined what would have happened if the distance had been closed, what it would have been like if their lips had connected in that moment. The very second that the image made itself known in his mind, Tetsurou closed it out, squeezing his eyes shut and bidding it to go away. He wasn’t ready to think about that. It was too early in his slow realizations, too late in the night to think rationally. 

He fell asleep much later than he normally would have, opting to ignore whatever his dreams had been trying to tell him. 

“I wish I hadn’t waited.  
I wish I never hesitated.  
Every day, I regret not accepting what I didn't know that I knew;  
Because now it’s too late.”

Usually, these writings left Tetsurou with a newfound curiosity, a sort of interest that followed him for the rest of the day. Today, however, he just felt strangely numb. This one was notably more melancholic than normal - the author likely wrote of the same hopeless love, but now, it seemed like they had given up. They were in too deep, and they couldn’t go back. Tetsurou still had no real desire to know exactly who this author was, but only now did the weight of them being a real person sink in. 

He hated how much he seemed to relate, all of a sudden.

“Every day, I regret not accepting what I felt for you, because now it’s too late.” The amount of relevance that the poem had was almost painful. Was Tetsurou experiencing right now what the author once did? Was he waiting, hesitating to admit something that would one day come back to only hurt him? Was this the universe’s strange way of telling him to hurry it up and realize what his feelings were?

It seemed too perfect, it seemed like the answer was staring at him right in the face, but he still couldn’t grab it. This whole process was much harder than it seemed. There was no big moment of realization, there was no quiet “Oh” that escaped his lips when he wondered what he really felt. No fireworks, no sudden burst of colors, just more questions and more denial. It was frustrating, it was, because he was terrified of making the wrong choice, even more terrified of not making one at all. What if he kept living like this forever? He didn’t want to insist that friendship was just friendship forever, but he didn’t have the confidence in himself to know exactly what he felt. Was he an idiot, as many of his friends claimed? Of course. And this situation was not helping disprove this.

When the class period let out and he was set to meet Yaku in the hall, he fully anticipated a sinking feeling of dread. He expected uncharacteristic awkwardness and conflicting feelings, but when he finally did spot his golden brown/strawberry blonde/whatever colored hair down the hallway, he felt himself breaking into a smile. The routine “Yakkun!” that he chirped was with excitement and relief, and the usual “Hey” in return filled him with that same feeling. Even though he had spent nearly the entire day dreading this encounter, he couldn’t help from feeling...safe. 

If this wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what was. Whether it was platonic or some kind of new romance, it had to be love.

“What’s got you so happy?” Yaku asked with a quizzically playful smirk, evidently having noticed Tetsurou’s thinly veiled cheeriness.

“I’m just happy,” he answered, shrugging.

He was glad Yaku didn’t ask why, then he would have had to answer with something incredibly cheesy, like, “Because I’ve got you with me.” 

It was only slightly embarrassing, but Tetsurou wasn’t sure he stopped smiling all throughout lunch. Kenma must have noticed, too, because they shot him a confused look from across the table. Their expression asked a multitude of questions, none of which were answered by Tetsurou, who just smiled back.

It was still weird, it was still confusing and crazy how Yaku just kept on diverting his own expectations of himself, but he couldn’t force himself to care. 

“I’ll see you at practice?” he asked when the bell rang to dismiss them from the lunch room.

“I’d better not,” Yaku answered, glancing for a split second down at his foot. 

Tetsurou laughed, waving him off. “Okay, okay, I won’t,” he answered, and, for once, he was true to his word. 

He was alone that night. 

They didn’t tell him that the house was his - or, maybe they did, and he had just forgotten it in the sea of everything else happening. His father had left that morning for a business trip, leaving him to his grandparents, who had gone to a dinner party across town. Tetsurou sat in the empty, quiet house, in his topmost bedroom and, try as he might, couldn’t drown out the silence.

It was irrational fear, surely. He should like the silence, considering the experiences of the earliest childhood, but he didn’t, not in the slightest. He had never been fully alone for years, most of his life, in fact, so he never really needed any reason to know what to do when he was lost in solitude. Another drawback was that nobody else knew, except for Kenma, of course. They didn’t know about his suffocating fear of loneliness, the twist in his gut when he realized that he was left with nobody to turn to. He never had to face this fear as much as others, he knew he was lucky in that respect, but it left him so unbearably unprepared for when he ran out of luck. 

He couldn’t walk around the house, that would remind him too much of the quiet. There was no point in trying to sleep through it or listening to music on blast, he had tried that. A distant thought reminded him of how many other teenagers would kill to be in his position, yet this seemed to make it that much worse. He was selfish, that’s what it meant. He was useless when he didn’t have anybody to lean on, he relied too heavily on other people. He was dramatic, he was pathetic, he was everything that he was terrified of being, and the loneliness was going to be the only thing to stay with him and -

Tetsurou snapped his eyes open from underneath his pillow. It was bad tonight. He hadn’t anticipated this. Normally, he would already be on his way to Kenma’s house, because there, he knew that the thoughts were wrong - but they weren’t home. You’re alone, nobody wants to see you like this, nobody wants anything to do with -

“You’re wrong,” Tetsurou said to the empty room, his voice cracking. He was terrified to find out that he didn't believe his own words, so he pulled up the contacts list on his phone. He was seconds away from calling Kenma, but he quickly realized that words through a speaker weren’t going to be enough. He racked his brain, almost in a panic, and by some terrible twist of fate, he remembered that Yaku was the one who lived the next closest to him. 

He barely weighed his options for a minute before coming to a solution. It was between a potentially awkward meeting with his maybe-crush or a developing breakdown in the solitude of his own empty house, and, although he was stupid, he wasn’t dense enough to not know which was the preferable route.

He took a low breath and sent, are you home, his hands only shaking slightly. 

Yaku responded within barely minutes, sending back with perfect punctuation and grammar, Yeah, why do you ask?

Tetsurou sighed shakily, already wondering if he was going to regret this. 

can i come over

He expected the answer to take much more contemplation, but, clearly, Yaku didn’t need much time to reach his decision, as the reply came within seconds.

Of course, you know where to find me.

Tetsurou nearly cried out in relief. Thanks, he typed and sent quickly before throwing himself out of bed. After turning off all the lights and locking the doors, he just about broke into a full run. He didn’t even realize that it was raining before he glanced at the time on his phone and found the screen spattered in drops of water. His ankle was close to killing him and, shortly after, his lungs had begun to ache much earlier than they normally would have, but he couldn’t make himself stop running. Gotta get to him, he thought, have to get to him.

He hadn’t been to Yaku’s house all that often, but it was almost like he knew the route like the back of his hand. When he reached the front door after what felt like hours of running, he took just a few moments to compose himself before just about pounding on the door. He felt what couldn’t have been anything but his heart in his throat when he heard quiet footsteps from behind the door.

It opened to reveal a short, plump woman with stunningly familiar hazel eyes. She smiled when she registered the dripping wet sixteen year-old at her doorstep. 

“Ah, Kuroo, right?” she said, smiling. Tetsurou gulped and nodded. “He told me you’d be stopping by.” She turned around and called into the house, “Morisuke! Your friend is here!”

It was barely seconds before they heard a thumping travelling through the house and Yaku himself appeared at the doorway alongside the woman that must have been his mother. Once again, Tetsurou found himself engulfed in that suffocating relief, almost like Yaku's mere presence was a soothing voice telling him that everything would be all right. He found himself staring down into his eyes again, so lost in comfort and warmth despite how soaked his clothes were that he didn't even notice that the other was staring right back, eyes wide and mouth gaping the smallest bit.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it," chirped the hazel-eyed woman, walking away from the door and breaking both boys out of their respective trances. When she was out of sight, Tetsurou practically stumbled into the house, mumbling apologies about it being so late, turning up on such short notice, tracking mud on the clean floors. Yaku shook his head as if to insist that it was all fine, everything was all right, and put a stop to his ramblings by taking both his hands in his own and staring up at him, that parental-like concern flooding his eyes.

Tetsurou looked right back, choking back his relief.

"Upstairs?" Yaku asked tentatively, one of his thumbs stroking the other's wrist absentmindedly. Tetsurou, correct in assuming that "upstairs" was in reference to his bedroom, nodded wordlessly and let himself be led through the unfamiliar house and up a flight of stairs. They entered a room with a ceiling sloped with the shape of the roof, completely dark before Yaku flicked on a nearby lamp, bathing the room in a soft golden light. He turned back to Tetsurou and asked with a voice equal in softness, "What's the matter?"

Tetsurou met his gaze again and was hit with the full force of Yaku's concern, his eyebrows pinched together, eyes wide and observing, mouth twisted in unspoken questions. Looking at the expression which he had only known himself to be the subject of once before, Tetsurou felt himself breaking. The heaviness of that night's thoughts and the realization of where he was came at him like a truck, and he couldn't keep the flood gates closed any longer. No, stop, he told himself, don’t push this any further. The wannabe captain in him screamed not to let this happen - if he broke right here, right now, the balance of their team and their friendship would shift for good. He wasn’t meant to be this vulnerable, Yaku - hell, the rest of the team wasn’t supposed to see him like this (the obvious exception being Kenma). He was happy, normally, he was goofy and sarcastic, he shouldn’t need to rely on anybody else. But, still...meeting those wide, concerned hazel eyes and hearing without hearing the reassurance that it’s okay, he couldn’t cling onto that excuse any longer. He was so, so weak. 

He opened his mouth to try to answer the question, but all he got out was an "I…" before his voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut. Opening them again, thick streams of tears pushed through and weaved down his cheeks, and his vision was so blurred that he couldn't see Yaku's expression before he was pulled down into a tight embrace. Yaku's arms wrapped carefully around his neck and shoulders and he was slowly pulled in, crouching down and letting himself be lowered into the crook of his shoulder. All too quickly, he felt himself inwardly collapsing, and, although he tried to maintain some kind of dignity, he let loose a strangled cry into the warm shoulder. His arms found Yaku's waist and he pulled him closer to himself, basking in the incredible comfort of not being alone anymore. 

"Hey," Yaku's voice said, slow and careful as one of his hands travelled up and ran itself through Tetsurou's especially messy, damp hair. At the contact, his quiet cry turned into a sob, and one sob became two, and suddenly he couldn't stop. With a heaving chest he wrapped himself as tightly as he could around the shorter boy, no longer in any sort of control over his broken, fragmented breathing. "I'm here," Yaku soothed, his tone soft unlike anything Tetsurou had ever heard before. "It's gonna be okay. I'm right here." 

They stood on the floor for what could have been nearly ten minutes, Tetsurou completely forgetting how to contain himself. When his breathing had slowed, albeit still shaky, he quietly pulled himself away and let his grip loosen. His hands dropped to rest on Yaku's hips, whose hands slipped from his shoulders and moved to cup his face, each one tucked behind his ears and thumbs brushing carelessly against Tetsurou's cheekbones. Tetsurou blinked a few times, and, eventually, remembered his situation.

"Shit," he let out with a breath. He realized far too late that his damp jacket had pressed into Yaku's, who stood wordlessly with a now wet t-shirt. "I-I'm sorry, I forgot-"

"It's okay," Yaku interrupted, his thumb now drawing the smallest circles into his cheek. "I don't care. You're more important."

Tetsurou, for what was surely the millionth time, was left speechless, and by the time he processed the words, more tears pushed their way through the corners of his eyes. Yaku put on the smallest, softest smile imaginable, not quite reaching his sad eyes, and moved one of his hands to brush away the wetness streaking down the other's face.

"I can get you dried off, if you want," he just about mumbled, his quiet voice being the loudest comfort that had likely ever graced Tetsurou's ears. He nodded slowly in response, though he wasn't quite sure what the plan was. Yaku nodded with him, slowly and carefully, and his hands travelled down from his face to his shoulders, then to his forearms and lastly came to rest for a moment in his cold hands before he broke off and turned away, heading toward a dresser against the opposite wall. He rifled through the drawers for a moment, leaving Tetsurou already missing his touch, and soon returned with neatly folded clothes atop a small towel - Tetsurou didn't have it in himself to be surprised that he kept those in his room. Yaku carefully found his hand again and with a soft "This way," he gently tugged him over in the direction of the bed. Needlessly assisting him through each step, he lowered Tetsurou to sit at the end of it and plopped himself down behind him. Not quite tall enough to reach comfortably while sitting with his legs crossed, he readjusted so that he was sitting up on his knees and picked the towel back up.

It was a surprise, but a welcome one, when Tetsurou felt the softness on the back of his head, the unmistakable sensation of a towel running through his hair. Normally, whenever he got out of the shower, he would roughly rub a towel over his head, almost violently shaking his hair dry. The way that Yaku did it, however, was much different. He didn't know if it was because this was how he always did it or because of the circumstances, but the way that Yaku slowly worked the cloth through his hair was unbelievably soft, forming careful circles on his scalp and weaving through his locks so, so gently. Involuntarily, a contented sigh escaped his lips, suddenly lost in the quiet sensation, but Yaku never acknowledged it. He just kept drying his hair, gently and comfortingly, for as long as he needed to. Maybe longer than that, Tetsurou had to admit, as he was sure that it must have been dry after nearly twenty minutes of this, but he couldn't complain. A large part of him never wanted the moment to end, never wanted to lose this touch, this closeness. 

When Yaku finally pulled the towel away, leaving with one last lingering touch, he quietly dropped it onto the floor. The next thing he knew, the softness of the cloth was replaced with slow, careful fingers brushing against his scalp, threading through his messy locks. He sucked in a sudden breath of surprise when he first felt it, but when Yaku's touch refused to slip away, he let it out with a slow, heavy sigh. This sensation was even better than the towel, which now seemed dull in comparison. He played with his own hair quite often, trying fruitlessly every morning to get it to rest in the way that he wanted to and brushing it aside multiple times in the day, but he had never had anybody else (that wasn't a passing family member) do it to him. He realized just how much he was missing out on, and felt an unsizeable amount of gratitude that Yaku was the one to help him find out. 

Soon, the hands slipped away from his head and dropped themselves gently onto each of his shoulders. "All done," Yaku all but whispered. Tetsurou felt the bed shifting below them and a slight increase in pressure on his shoulders before a light weight lowered itself onto the top of his head, lingering for a moment before Yaku fully moved himself off of the bed. He felt himself subconsciously reaching up, touching the spot where he could only imagine Yaku had placed a gentle kiss. He felt himself smiling. 

"Here," Yaku said from beside him, and when he looked, he was holding out the folded clothes that he had retrieved from his dresser. "I don't know how well they'll fit you, but it's better than what you have on now - you'll catch a cold in those." 

Tetsurou took the clothes with surprisingly steady hands, all the while failing to pull his gaze away from Yaku's eyes. His sight remained on him even as he took a step back and walked away, exiting the room to give him privacy. Tetsurou gripped the clothes in his arms and suddenly knew that he hadn't stopped blushing for nearly half an hour.

The clothes, as Yaku expected, didn't fit all that well. The pajama pants exposed a good few inches of his ankles and the sweater, although it was baggy and far less tight, had arms that didn't quite reach his wrists. Still, when he wore them, it felt...right. Yaku's clothes, even though they didn't fit, felt like home, like a loving embrace, like a comforting touch. He hugged his arms against his chest, pressing the sweater closer into himself, and sighed at the ceiling. Only then did he know that everything about Yaku was like home. All his touches, his smiles, his words, they existed seemingly just for him, as if in this place, right now, all of his being was put into caring for him. And he was grateful beyond words. After he opened the door and Yaku had walked back in, he sunk his head into the now-familiar shoulder and said in the softest, most meaningful way that he could manage, "Thank you." 

Yaku seemed startled, but his arms wrapped around his back and he held him close. 

This embrace was much shorter than the first had been, and soon Yaku, mindlessly rubbing the other's back, asked quietly, "Do you want to lie down?"

"Mm-hm," Tetsurou answered, slowly pulling himself away. It wasn't long before they found themselves lying on Yaku's bed, both on their sides and facing each other, not quite sure what to do next but not bothered by that fact. 

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Yaku said eventually.

Tetsurou gulped. He had nearly forgotten. 

He must have hesitated for a moment too long, because Yaku continued, "You don't have to, obviously, I was just-"

"No," Tetsurou said, feeling his hand reach forward on its own. "No, I-I want to talk about it. You deserve to know."

"You don't have to," Yaku whispered, but Tetsurou acted like he didn't hear. 

“I...was alone. I-in the house,” he said slowly, trying to pick his words carefully. 

“You...don’t like being alone?”

Tetsurou closed his eyes. “No, i-it’s too quiet. I get, like...anxious, I guess. I get these...thoughts, these ideas that just don’t go away, telling me everything that I’m afraid of.”

Yaku studied him carefully, eyebrows drawn together in a peculiar way. “What are you afraid of?” he asked quietly.

Tetsurou took a breath and attempted a shrug. “I dunno, the usual stuff. That I’m not good enough, I’m stupid and dramatic, nobody really likes me as much as they say, that I’m - I’m alone, and-”

His voice cracked and fell, and only then did he register the quiet fear that made itself known in Yaku’s eyes. He blinked and another tear forced its way out, travelling down his nose and dropping onto the pillow under him. 

“Kuroo,” Yaku said softly, reaching his hand out and gently holding it against the other’s cheek. “I...I had no idea…” He looked close to tears, himself.

Tetsurou let out a quiet, watery chuckle. “I’m scared of that, too. That...people will get too attached to me, and then they’ll just get themselves hurt. Because I’m just so...” his voice trailed off. He didn’t know exactly what the word he was looking for was.

“You could never hurt me,” Yaku said quickly, seeming to pick up on the words that had been omitted.

Tetsurou blinked at him, feeling that all too familiar twist in his stomach. “You sure?” he whispered. 

Yaku bit his lip, hesitating for a moment. “Not on purpose,” he eventually muttered, a small smile spreading onto his lips. Tetsurou sighed and let his eyes shut, leaning into the hand still cupped around his face. 

“It’s stupid,” he said, voice still unnaturally quiet.

“Nonsense,” Yaku said. “It’s okay to be afraid, everybody is. Just...you know that the thoughts are wrong, right? We...I...we love you, Kuroo. And...I know that we all want to hear about it if something’s hurting you. Don’t lock us out, okay?”

Tetsurou felt a light buzzing in his brain. Yaku had never used that word before, at least not in reference to him. He never used “love.” He felt himself grinning again at the same moment that his vision blurred and he felt another wetness travelling down his face. He met Yaku’s eyes, still narrowed in that heart-wrenching concern, and reached toward his own face to hold onto the hand gently placed on it. 

“Okay. I promise,” he said quietly, watching as Yaku’s eyes swam through what could have been a thousand different emotions before landing on a tearful joy, some kind of unspoken relief. 

“Thank you,” he said, laughing quietly and letting thin streaks of tears slip down his cheeks. Tetsurou smiled at him, engulfed in this safety, this comfort despite unfamiliarity. What was the phrase? “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder”? He had never understood the saying before, but now, he almost seemed to get it. He removed his hand and transferred it to Yaku’s waist, carefully shifting himself forward until the two were almost chest to chest. 

“You’re cute,” he muttered into Yaku’s hair that was several colors at once, and relished in the way that Yaku seemed to squirm under his embrace.

“Stop,” he said, though it sounded less like an order and more like an invitation.

“No, wait,” Tetsurou continued, smirking as he looked for the right words. “Scratch that. You’re beautiful.” 

Yaku stiffened, then slowly erupted to a spout of giggles. Tetsurou couldn’t help from joining along, the two of them a ridiculous pile of tired laughter on Yaku’s small bed. That thought came to Tetsurou again, that voice that told him that this is love. This is home, this is warmth, this is beauty incarnate. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I stayed the night, would you?” he eventually asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer. 

“I thought that was the whole point,” Yaku answered, and Tetsurou could feel his breath against his chest. He smiled and, his sense long gone by this point, returned Yaku’s earlier favor and shifted himself forward enough to press a kiss into the top of his head. 

And soon, they fell asleep, just like that. When Tetsurou awoke the next morning, he found several missed calls and texts from his father and grandparents, but they didn’t concern him as much as the position that he found himself in. His arms were still wrapped tightly around Yaku, though they had travelled upward and now held him close by the shoulders. Yaku’s arms fit perfectly around Tetsurou’s waist and their legs were tangled in the same space, and all the small weights he felt on his body made for the most comforting “good morning” he’d ever experienced. He soon found himself lost in the rhythm of Yaku’s slow, heavy breathing, each exhale still felt on his chest. For a moment, he imagined what his expression was at the moment, what his face looked like when he had no worries, no influence on his natural resting face, but he didn’t dare find out out of fear that he'd jostle him awake. Instead, he settled for a quiet exhale, and, studying the way the light of the rising sun through the curtained window lit up Yaku’s short curls, he whispered, “I love you.” 

And, surprisingly, it wasn’t as scary to say out loud as he thought it would be.

Falling, as it turns out, really is the strangest thing. 

Just as the unknown author had said all those weeks ago, it didn’t happen all at once. There was no set moment where Tetsurou had realized that he was in love, it simply...happened. Gradually. Maybe he had always loved Yaku, maybe he had only fallen just yesterday. All he knew was that now, despite how strange and foreign the concept may have seemed only a few weeks ago, he liked Yaku. He liked him a lot. He wanted to know him as much as it was possible to know someone, he wanted to keep being a part of his life. 

Maybe it had taken him so long to figure it out because he didn’t feel like he was missing anything, before. There wasn’t a single thing that he wanted with Yaku that he didn’t already have. Now, however, he felt himself wanting more and more. When they walked side by side in the hallway he found himself wanting to hold his hand loosely in his own. When they sat silently together through classes or lunch, he frequently kept himself fighting off the temptation to run a hand through his short and probably incredibly soft hair. He wanted to bear witness to the rare rosy blush that sprang to his cheeks on his few flustered moods, he wanted to feel the intoxicating run of his fingers through his messy hair, over and over again. And maybe, maybe his mind kept drifting back to wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, what his lips would taste like against his own (he would never admit that he had a few scenarios planned out in his head, none of which he suspected would ever actually happen). And, of course, he wanted to return the favor. If Yaku was willing to receive it, he was fully prepared to give back every little feeling of love and safety that he had felt from him, even if it ate him alive.

The trouble was how Tetsurou was to actually tell him.

He had thought about it, in fact, in great detail, searching endlessly for the right words. Nothing seemed to fit - the closest thing to what he thought he felt was the typical “I love you;” it was short, sweet and to the point. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that that would be too sudden. If he were to say that, he had to preface it with something, build up to that. That’s the part he was having trouble with. 

For now, however, he wouldn’t worry about it. He’d continue building off of this ever-growing adoration, keep enjoying the feeling of being friends with this incredible person before he risked changing it forever. Wait for the right moment, he told himself. He’d find it eventually. 

Almost a week had passed since that rainy night that Tetsurou had shown up at Yaku’s doorstep, and it had been a blissful, tension-free week. There was a moment somewhere at the beginning where Yaku had asked if Tetsurou would tell the rest of the team the things that he told him that previous weekend - to which he responded that he would, eventually - but outside of that, it wasn’t mentioned any more. Yaku had returned to his usual self, no more worries carved into his idle expressions and actions. Tetsurou even wondered if their interactions were becoming more friendly and relaxed than ever before, but he didn’t have any evidence to back it up. Maybe he was just happier in Yaku’s presence, now, that was all.

At least, that’s what he convinced himself, until that Thursday, standing outside the gymnasium with Yaku after practice. His ankle had finally stopped giving him pain and he was allowed to participate in practice again, much to his endless relief. Despite the chilled air around them, he was exhausted and heated from a more intense practice than usual, still trying to make up for all his missed days. He knew that the moment he got home he would collapse and be immediately off to sleep, and he only had the smallest concern for his homework. Although he wasn’t as bothered, he still turned to Yaku and asked, “Did you do the Japanese homework?”

Yaku pressed his lips together and Tetsurou knew he was hiding a smile. “I did,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Tetsurou raised his eyebrows, feeling a small grin coming on.

“You did,” he repeated. They stared at each other silently for a moment before, laughing slightly, Tetsurou asked, “Would it be okay if I could see the answers?”

Uncharacteristically, Yaku let out a quiet snort and said, rolling his eyes, “Why not?”

Tetsurou blinked. “Really?” he asked, but Yaku was already slinging his bag off his shoulders. He set it on the ground and crouched down next to it, unzipping it, but Tetsurou didn’t quite believe it.

“Are you joking?” he said.

Yaku scoffed. “You were the one who asked,” he said. “It’s just homework, anyway. No big deal.”

Yeah, the interactions were definitely getting friendlier. 

“Thanks,” he let out with a huffy laugh, and Yaku just hummed in response. He rifled through the binders in his backpack, eventually bringing up a red notebook.

“Hold that for a second, will you?” he asked, reaching up to hand it to Tetsurou. “It takes up too much room.” He took it curiously, rifling through the pages.

“What is it?”

Yaku shrugged. “Just a nonsense book, I guess. I write stuff that comes to mind, I guess it’s kind of a collection of passing thoughts.”

Tetsurou liked the idea of that. “Could I look through it?”

“Sure,” Yaku said. “But none of it probably makes any sense.” 

Tetsurou opened up the first page, and with the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, read, “Library: 10:56-11:35.” Somewhere near the bottom, there was a pen scribble of a small cat face. He felt himself smiling fondly. 

The next page was a little more interesting, a few doodles of simplistic v-shapes resembling bird silhouettes and a short paragraph a few lines down. Tetsurou scanned it quickly:

“Ocean breeze, seagull speaks.  
Crashing waves, endless thoughts.  
Pluck my heart or rip it out;  
Misty shores, ocean breeze.”

“Do you write?” Tetsurou asked absentmindedly, already flipping to the next page.

“A bit,” Yaku answered, pulling up a white binder. “The stuff in that book isn’t very good, all the serious stuff goes on different papers.”

“Serious stuff?” Tetsurou echoed, raising his eyebrows over the notebook.

Yaku opened the binder and rifled through the papers in it. “I dunno. It’s stupid, just vent poetry, I guess.”

“What do you do with it all?”

He found a shorter paragraph on the next paper that said, in smudged writing, “A little piece of myself, just for you.” He was starting to think that the handwriting was familiar, but it did belong to Yaku, after all.

Yaku slipped a piece of paper from a folder in the binder. “It’s weird, but I usually just leave it in my desk. The way I see it, if they’re still there by the next day, then it means they're good. And if they’re not, then it wasn’t meant to be. Fate, y’know?” 

Tetsurou furrowed his brows. “I think that has less to do with ‘fate’ and more with the people who had cleaning duty that day.”

“Close enough,” Yaku answered, and he stood up with the paper. “Here. Just give it back to me tomorrow, before class.”

“Sure thing,” Tetsurou answered, taking the paper. “Thanks,” he said again.

Yaku reached forward and grabbed at the notebook, but Tetsurou, inexplicably, jerked it back, out of reach.

“...Are you done with that?” Yaku asked, eyebrows raised quizzically.

Tetsurou pursed his lips, thinking it over. It was stupid, but the fact that this book was filled with the writings closest to Yaku’s heart was something so tempting, how could he not spent hours flipping though it? “No,” he answered slowly. 

Yaku’s expression only deepened in confusion. 

“I just want to read through it,” Tetsurou said, defensive. “I can give it back to you tomorrow.”

Yaku rolled his eyes. “No,” he said, and went to reach for it again.

Tetsurou wished that it wouldn’t have to come to this, but he reached his arm up, holding the notebook an extra few feet in the air.

“Oh, you prick,” Yaku said, stepping back. Tetsurou was lucky not to get a hard kick to the shin. “There’s like, nothing in it, why are you so serious about it?”

"Why are you?”

Yaku bit his lip, unaware of how crazy the sight drove Tetsurou. He glanced from the book back to his friend’s face a few times, and eventually closed his eyes with a sigh.

“Fine,” he said, and his tone made it sound like “What’s the harm?”

The subject was soon dropped, and they were eventually forced to head their separate ways. As he was walking away, Yaku called over his shoulder, “Get those back to me tomorrow!”

“Sure thing,” came the response from Tetsurou, who went to catch up with Kenma on their way out. They quizzically eyed the notebook he still held loosely in his hand, but didn’t ask. 

As he had expected, he immediately collapsed onto his bed when he made it home and up to his bedroom, but he wasn't as tired anymore. Instead of sleeping, he opted to examine the red spiral notebook in his hands, flipping it back and forth. Yaku's touch had been on this, his hands had dragged along these pages, he thought, relishing in that fact. God, shut up, you sap, Tetsurou told himself, though he couldn't coax away the newfound blush. 

He flipped through the first few pages again, and though they all seemed like mindless ramblings (a short passage that he had missed read nothing but "pigs: are they on to something?"), but he couldn't help but marvel at it. He never would have imagined that he'd get the chance to peer this closely into Yaku's mind, and that somehow made him love him even more. 

He passed by the ocean poem again and remembered what Yaku had said about writing. He had never known that Yaku liked to write, but rather than take any kind of offense from that fact, he found it comforting. It reminded him that there was still more to learn, every day he would be getting a step closer to knowing Yaku in his entirety, an entirety that was changing every day, just like everybody else. 

He smiled at the thought and turned to the next page. 

"I like to think you're my little secret."

He must have imagined the sense of déjà vu, and kept flipping.

"Maybe I'll have to settle for the stars."

The word "stars" was circled and, underneath, it was written, "sun = stars!! Genius!" Tetsurou felt himself chuckling, imagining Yaku's adorable enthusiasm, but when he went back to reread the line, his breathing hitched. No, he had definitely heard these lines somewhere before. 

His eyes glanced by the margins, picking up words like "gradually," "earnest smile," and a longer "...as much as I do?"

He felt his brows drawing together as he flipped through every new page, racking his brain for where he had read these things before. It felt so familiar, in between the other random reminders and scribbled down thoughts. He found himself almost frantically turning each loose leaf page, searching for an answer he didn't think would come.

It did.

Somewhere in the middle of the sea of empty pages, he read the words that had long since been ingrained in his mind.

"Falling is the strangest thing."

He physically felt his heart stop. 

"Holy shit," he whispered. "Holy shit." 

The idea wasn't that unlikely, but he had trouble wrapping his head around it. All those weeks of finding heartfelt poems in his desk, all those weeks of wondering who they were for, quietly wondering who had written them, the entire time, the answer was staring him right in the face. 

Yaku's own words came back to him: "Fate, y'know?" Oh, he knew. He knew now. 

His first feeling was excitement. All this time, he had been indirectly receiving little pieces of Yaku's innermost thoughts! As soon as this thought crossed his mind, however, he was filled with a sinking dread. If he was right in assuming that the writings had always had some kind of inspiration from real life, then it terrified him to think of what was going on in Yaku's mind to prompt him to get the thoughts out through a pen and paper. Immediately after this, he realized that he must have been in pain. He remembered that melancholic longing that was always present in the short writings and he couldn't imagine that Yaku had been the source. But the answer was right here, again, staring him in the face. 

For a moment, he wondered who had been making him feel these things. Who would be making him write about unrequited love, who was this criminal that he spoke of, not appreciating the care and love that he put into every interaction? The moment only lasted for a few seconds, however, because Tetsurou realized who it must have been.

It had to be him.

Who else did he spend the careful time and effort on to get across the fact that he cared? What other person did he invite into his house in the dead of night, soaking wet and a complete mess, and still have the energy to make them feel safe, loved? Who else did he take care of with an annoyed exterior but with gentle eyes, who else had been asked by him if they could promise to be honest and open? Did Yaku get teary-eyed for anybody else when they finally did make that promise?

Tetsurou suddenly felt incredibly stupid. He liked Yaku, and now he finally knew that he was liked back.

Not in the overly-confident way that one would expect, but in the way that made him terrified at the thought. There was a fleeting joy when he realized that his feelings were requited, but it was quickly overpowered by guilt. Guilt that it had taken him this long to realize, guilt for how he was unintentionally hurting him so obviously. With a pang he remembered what Yaku had told him on that rainy night, when he was asked if he really believed that Tetsurou could never hurt him. He had hesitated, but responded carefully, "Not on purpose." As the memory of that night flooded his mind, he felt a stinging in his eyes. 

He wanted to cry out, yell his apologies into the night sky, beg for a way that he could fix this. I never meant to hurt him, he thought over and over. I didn't know. I didn't know. 

But he couldn't let himself wallow in regret forever. That wouldn't be helping anybody, and, right now, he needed to fix this. And he needed to do it now, no more waiting around for the right moment. Without wasting another second, having completely forgotten about the homework that he was meant to be doing, he scrambled into his backpack for a pen and flipped to a random, empty page in the red notebook.

While Morisuke went on his regular commute to school on that Friday morning, he had to convince himself countless times that everything would be okay. It wasn't like he had written out a whole confession in that notebook, had he? Kuroo wouldn't piece together the shreds of bad, unfinished poems and figure out what they meant, would he? It was unlikely, implausible and everything else in between. Kuroo was smart, but not that smart, surely.

The constant reassurances did little to ease the queasiness he felt as he took the steps up to the school's front gates. The feeling only amplified when he heard Kuroo call out his nickname from behind him, mixing unflatteringly with the usual feelings of adoration that always overtook him whenever he locked eyes with that boy. God, he was so hopeless.

They met somewhere in the middle of the concrete leading up to the front doors, Morisuke trying to study all Kuroo's movements, hoping to notice any signs of irregularity before the storm hit. Thankfully, he seemed to be his normal cool, bubbly self, if only a little more chipper that morning.

"Hey," Kuroo said when the distance between them had lessened enough, trademark smirk in place.

"Morning," Morisuke returned, not wanting to seem as frantic as he felt. Luckily, he didn't need to ask where the notebook was, because shortly after their initial greeting, Kuroo slung his bag in front of him and from within it, drew out the familiar red book, the covers as unaltered as ever.

"Here," Kuroo said, holding it out to him, wearing a smile that was wider than normal. "The homework's in it, too. Thanks again."

Morisuke took the notebook with a mumbled "No problem." 

Before thinking of much else to say, Kuroo continued his walk to the entrance of their school building, brushing a gentle hand along the other's shoulder as he went by.

"I'll see you later," he said happily, and the next thing Morisuke knew, he was standing alone on the concrete, somehow both dumbstruck and lovestruck at the same time.

He waited until finding his seat in his first period class before opening up the notebook, which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea. He saw the paper that must have been his homework sticking out from somewhere in the middle of the book, and when he opened it to take it out, he found a peculiar sight on the underlying page. It was a paragraph that was longer than his normal ones, written in blue ink rather than his usual black, not to mention the scribbly, messy handwriting in place of his normal attempts at neatness. Scanning it over with a confused tilt in his expression, he read the first line:

"Hey, Yakuun~"

Almost instantaneously, he was filled with an indescribable dread. Shit, he thought, and for good measure, thought it again and again, possibly a thousand times over. He had the overbearing urge to slap the book shut, stuff it into his bag and forget about it until the end of the school day, but he still had about five minutes before the bell rang and class began. He had time.

With a shaking breath and a face that was probably cherry red, he let his eyes fall back down to the page.

"I'm not as good at words as you are, if that's not obvious already, but I have just...SO many things I want to say to you. Don't panic, I know you like to come to conclusions too quickly, but I want to say it to your face. I've read everything you wrote, and I feel so, so stupid for waiting this long to do something. If you don't hate me already, meet me on the roof during lunch? It'll be fine, I promise.  
\- I think you already know ;)"

Morisuke slowly closed the notebook back up, utterly mortified. Of course the universe would balance just like this, so aggreviously out of his favor. Of course it was just his luck that out of all the times, places, and different combinations of seating arrangements, the desk that he used as his dumbass fate decider just so happened to also belong to the last person on the face of the planet that was supposed to see. Of course. 

It was a miracle that he even made it all the way through his first period without combusting, but by the time he got to his Japanese classroom, in the seat that had so mercilessly betrayed him, he decided that there was no way out. He’d been caught, and what he did next was going to be the deciding factor for his entire relationship with Kuroo. He let out a defeated sigh and ripped out a wrinkled paper to scribble down in place of his usual mindless rambles:

"I'll see you then."

Fresh from the excitement from the short note he found in his desk just the previous period and now with a slight zing from the all but clarification that his hypothesis had been correct, Tetsurou hugged his school blazer against himself in an attempt to hide from the chilled air. Why exactly he had decided that the roof would be the best place to do this, he didn’t know, though he couldn’t blame himself for wanting to be alone, get away from the crowd of people. He felt a peculiar twist in the pit of his stomach, a terrible anticipation. He didn’t consider himself to be someone to get nervous about confessions or anything of the like, but, as always, Yaku was the exception. 

The muscles behind his ears tensed as a heavy door opened from behind, prompting him to swivel around and face the source. In the doorway of the staircase that led back down into the school stood Yaku, the sight of him as refreshing as ever. He looked the same as always, wearing that same school uniform as that morning and every day before that, but something about him was especially so damn cute. Maybe it was the widened, cat-like eyes, or the blush that was just visible from the distance, or maybe it was just Tetsurou's nerves playing tricks on him. Either way, he couldn't stop a small smile from creeping up on him, just like it always did around Yaku, lately.

"You came," he said, unsure of how else to start. He expected something like "Obviously, idiot," or at the very least a "yeah," or, "of course" in response, but Yaku said nothing. Instead, he straightened himself out in the doorway, clutching the bag strap on his shoulder, looking almost out of breath. Tetsurou had to wonder, had he run here?

Eventually, he cleared his throat and took the remaining steps toward Kuroo, letting the heavy door fall quietly shut behind him.

"So," he started when he was close enough, his voice sounding terribly quiet, "you know."

Tetsurou cleared his throat. "Know what?" he teased.

Yaku wasn't entertained. In fact, he wasn't even annoyed. He just kept his face as blank as ever, eyes flitting nervously from his shoes to Tetsurou's face. The unusualness of it was almost painful.

Tetsurou sighed, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. "I do, yeah," he eventually answered. "I pieced it together, I guess."

"Right," Yaku said, his hands moving from his backpack strap to each other, fiddling with his fingers nervously. Tetsurou tried to think of what to say next - he was so ready for this just last night, but now that Yaku was standing in front of him, he seemed to have forgotten how to even speak.

"Well," he eventually said, "I think it would please you to know that…I do, too."

Yaku's eyes flicked back up to him again, though his expression didn't change much. "What?"

The grin on Tetsurou's lips widened, and he didn't have to force it this time. "I...I like you. A lot, actually. And...I'm sorry that I kept you waiting."

Yaku's eyes were noticeably wider, though his mouth was still a slim, short line. "You...what? What are you talking about?"

Tetsurou felt a heat shooting up to the back of his neck. For a terrible moment, he thought that he had vastly misunderstood the situation. "I...I read everything that you left in your desk, and, even though I didn't know that you wrote them, they were still something special. It took me a really long time to figure it out, but, I'm here now. I...Yaku Morisuke, I really, really like you, and you don't have to like me back - I just...you deserve to know."

When he finished, somewhat lamely, he felt his heart drop as he registered that a glossy shine had overtaken Yaku's eyes. 

"Shut up," he whispered, eyes only seeming to grow wider. "You - are you joking? Is this a dream?"

Tetsurou felt a chuckle bubbling at the back of his throat. "It doesn't have to be real," he heard himself say, even if it wasn't really true. "You can leave right now if you want to, go back to lunch and pretend this never happened-"

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

The suddenness of Yaku's voice nearly made Tetsurou jump, but the shock was drowned out with a sudden immense relief when he found that Yaku's expression was slowly morphing into a small grin. 

"Just a suggestion," he muttered, but all too suddenly, Yaku was on him. Just like he had done on that late, rainy night, he threw his arms over his shoulders and pulled Tetsurou down to his height. This time, he squeezed much harder, nuzzled his nose into the crook of the other's neck more forcefully than before.

"There's no way in hell that I'm going to walk away pretending like this isn't happening," he breathed, lips almost too close to Tetsurou's ear. 

There was a pause and, with a dry gulp, he asked, "Why's that?"

He could feel Yaku smiling against him. "Because I've been in love with you since first year, dumbass. This entire time I've been pining like a lost dog, thinking that you'd never feel the same way about me. I thought that I was stupid for caring so much about you, but you're starting to make it sound like not such a bad idea." His nails dug into Tetsurou's back through his school blazer. "So if you tell me that you're joking right now, I'm going to push you off this roof."

Tetsurou couldn't help it - he laughed. He laughed wholly and freely, letting out his relief and forgetting why he had been so stressed in the first place. His hands found Yaku's back and he wrapped them around as tightly as he could, and, his brain engulfed in this euphoria, lifted Yaku off his feet, laughing into his shoulder. Not long after, Yaku was laughing, too, that bright giggling that was on par with sunshine, not even bothering to yell at Tetsurou to put him down. 

For good measure, he did a sort of spin with Yaku in the air, coaxing out a shriek of laughter from the boy he held in his arms. With what he hoped was grace, he lowered Yaku's feet back to the ground and pulled away just enough to press his forehead into his own. 

"Are you serious?" he asked, completely unable to contain a grin.

Yaku's own mouth twisted into that incredible, no-shame smile. "I've never been more serious about something in my life," he whispered, his nose brushing against Tetsurou, who blushed shamelessly. Their breaths were so close together, their bodies so intertwined, that cinnamon aroma was clouding up his mind; it would be almost too easy to fall forward and finally feel those dreamy lips.

"Is it okay," he eventually said, trying to keep his voice low, "that I want to do so much more than just hug you?"

With this, Yaku's arms slowly untangled themselves, his hands carefully moving backward until they were in that familiar position, his fingers holding Tetsurou lightly by the jaw, thumbs carelessly brushing against his cheeks. This smile was much different than all of his others, but it was just as beautiful. His eyebrows pointed upward, drawing together in a way that would normally suggest sadness, but the curl of his lips made it so obvious that he had nothing but incredible, adoring happiness. "That's so much more than okay."

They held the position longer than either of them would care to admit, Tetsurou frozen in place. 

"I wanna kiss you so bad," he soon mumbled, deciding to voice exactly what he was thinking.

Yaku rolled his eyes, but couldn't drop that exhilarating smile. "Then just do it already."

An incredible heat sprang to Tetsurou’s cheeks as he registered the words, a part of him not quite believing what he was hearing. Still, carefully, tentatively, he tilted his head to a comfortable angle, glancing back and forth between Yaku's lowered eyes and his waiting lips. Before he gave himself the chance to second guess himself again, he let out one last huff and closed the distance between them.

Now, he had imagined kissing Yaku before, more times than he cared to admit. He'd wanted to kiss Yaku for longer than that, maybe longer than he even knew, if he were to hyper-analyze his mixed feeling for the boy when they had first met. However, the reality of it was far greater than any of his wildest dreams could hope to recreate. He knew his lips would be soft, but not this soft - he never could have anticipated how well they'd fit together, two adjoining puzzle pieces. 

The kiss was light, at first, a hesitant brush to get a taste of what they were getting themselves into. It wasn't long, however, before Tetsurou completely sank into it, feeling the curve of Yaku's smile against his mouth. For a first kiss, it wasn't bad - breathy and messy, yes, and so unexpectedly needy, but it might as well have been perfect. Yaku's hands fit so perfectly cupped around Tetsurou's face, who still had him held close by the waist. Tetsurou was quickly lost in it, the sensation warm and welcoming, Yaku's small hums in the back of his throat nothing short of enchanting. 

Yaku's lips continued to stay glued to his own even as he pulled away, like he was silently insisting that he stay. However, Tetsurou was quick to overtake him in height, ending the kiss with a soft, wet sound. Their foreheads found each other again, and the two once more fell into a fit of quiet giggling. Meeting his eyes again, Tetsurou remembered how much affection he had reserved for Yaku, how special and perfect he was. How much more lucky could he be? 

Completely illogical in the way that only Yaku could render him, he rubbed a gentle hand along his side above his waist and whispered, making sure to put as much meaning behind it as he felt, "I love you."

It was impossible to miss the redness that engulfed seemingly Yaku's entire face. "I can't believe this is real," he muttered, his smile wide and unable to fall. 

"You'd better believe it, baby," Tetsurou said, wiggling his eyebrows. Yaku snorted.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," he huffed, eyes shining brighter with every word, "but I love you, too. More than you could ever know."

A flurry of emotions rushed through Tetsurou's veins - warmth, comfort, safety, relief, and every little in between that Yaku had ever brought to the surface. 

"I bet I love you more," he mumbled, sinking his face back into Yaku's shoulder.

"Impossible," Yaku said with a huff. "Have you been pining for over a year?" At Tetsurou's elongated silence, he laughed and finished, "Didn't think so."

"Yeah, well, I love you now, and that's all that matters, right?"

There was that hesitation in Yaku's silence again, but not the guilty, suggesting-a-lie kind like it once had been. It was a happy, disbelieving hesitation after a period of yearning that had lasted far too long.

"Yeah," he eventually answered, his voice strangely watery. "'S long as I've got you now."

Giving into instinct had gotten him this far, so Tetsurou did what his brain was screaming at him to do and kissed Yaku again. And again, and a few more times after that, peppering on as many as he could on every part of his face that he could manage. 

As much as neither of them wanted to admit it, they couldn't stay on the rooftop forever, lost in this incredible feeling. Yaku was the first to break the news; "I think that class is going to start soon."

Tetsurou let out a tired noise of protest.

"I know," Yaku responded, smiling understandingly. "Though, I might want to keep you waiting - give you a taste of your own medicine, yeah?"

Tetsurou pouted. "Sorry," he mumbled, giving Yaku a light squeeze from under his embrace. Then, like a dream, Yaku gingerly brought his hands up and threaded them through messy black hair - or dark brown hair, or whatever color he wanted it to be. All Tetsurou knew as he felt those fingers caressing his scalp was that he was all Yaku's, no question about it. 

"It wasn’t your fault. It's okay. Now it is, anyway," Yaku told him, tracing the smallest circles into his crown. "How about we go to your house later? After practice, I can walk you home?"

Tetsurou just about melted at the softness of his words. Briefly looking up from over Yaku's shoulders, he surveyed the grayed out sky around them. He let loose a contented sigh, remembering that this is home, this is comfort, this is love. "I'd like that," he said, wishing for nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaa well if you're reading this then it means that you made it all the way to the end and for that I'd like to say...thank you!! I didn't mention this before because I didn't want it to influence people's decisions on whether or not they should read this but...this is my first published fanfic! Ever! And out of all the fanfics that I've written, this is the only one that I've ever finished and published. I've only seen Haikyuu once so the characterization is probably a bit off, but I recently fell in love with this ship and I wanted to try something that I've never seen done with it before. Comments and Kudos are much appreciated, and, even though it's been said countless times by countless people, I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it!


End file.
